People pass into (and out of) our lives constantly, like the ceaseless ebb of the restless tides.

Some people almost seem to "flit" past; we see them, become acquaintances, converse, then they are gone. They are like shadows to you.

In the night of the duration of your relationships with these people, a light emitted by the word "acquaintance" casts the shadow. You know there is a real person there, possessor of the shadow, but as it is night, you cannot see the person himself and you must be content with the vague outlines of a fragile shadow.

Day dawns; they are gone. All you remember is some very nondescript silhouette. Eventually, as life wears on, that memory sinks slowly into the abyss of your subconscious mind, more likely than not never to be resuscitated.

But then, there are other types of people. Instead of resembling flitting butterflies, they remind me of magnets.

I suppose this analogy seems to favor the former "type" of person. But consider the extremely temporal existence of a butterfly. Certainly, they are beautiful to look at while they last, but they are also easily crushed. Now, perhaps, you see the enduring adhesiveness of magnets in a more favorable light.

So, as you may have guessed, magnets are the people that really matter; the people that don't just walk out of your life.

When you first meet, magnetism plays its part. The somewhat difficult-to-understand concept of magnetism draws two previously unconnected people together, forming a bond that is as strong as it is dear. Now, as you walk through your life, and the other person walks through theirs, you are not walking in different directions, but side-by-side.

Because of your bond, you derive joy from the other person's triumphs, and your heart is saddened by their troubles.

Perhaps next time you see a magnet, you will thank the Lord for true friendship.